


oh jesus fuck, you weren't kidding

by fightforyourwrite



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Jean Kirstein, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Tension, Awkwardness, Badass Mikasa Ackerman, Botanist Mikasa Ackerman, F/M, First Meetings, Toronto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 09:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17078186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightforyourwrite/pseuds/fightforyourwrite
Summary: “Hey, some guy tried to break into my place so I knocked him out. Can I use your phone to call the police?” is not a statement Jean expected to hear at 3 in the morning.





	oh jesus fuck, you weren't kidding

**Author's Note:**

> *cartwheels into Jeankasa fanfic again*
> 
> heyyyyyyyyyyy

Jean Kirschtein doesn’t think much about the knocking on his door at this hour of the night. Being awake at three in the morning isn’t exactly unusual thing for him. 

With some effort, he manages to force himself up and get out of bed. He figures that the faster he answers and settles the situation, then the faster he can get back to sleep. 

So with groggy eyes, Jean stumbles his way through his studio apartment until his hand finds the knob of his door. He unlocks the thing and opens the door. His chain lock goes taught upon opening and only allows him to see his late night visitor through a small gap. 

To his surprise, it’s not Connie and Sasha carrying some kind of recreational drug, nor is it the landlord looking for rent money. 

It’s the woman from across the hall, the woman that he often sees in the lobby, but rarely ever speaks to. 

She’s about his age and just a bit shorter than him. She’s a person who habitually keeps her earbuds plugged in and a scarlet scarf wrapped around her neck. So much so that Jean almost doesn’t recognize her when all she’s wearing a night robe and a rather large t-shirt. 

He does not know her name. Jean only knows her as Ackerman in 210, as it is what’s written on her mailbox. 

“Can I help you?” Jean asks plainly. 

As interesting as it is having a pretty woman knock on his door, his brain just isn’t ready to process anything at this hour. Anything she could say would easily fly over his head.

Ackerman in 210 takes a quick breath before speaking her words in a formal, focused manner. 

_ “Hey, some guy tried to break into my place so I knocked him out. Can I use your phone to call the police?” _

Jean blinks and starts to wonder if he’s still sleeping.

“Uh… you can’t use yours?” he tries, rubbing his eyes and trying to force himself awake. 

Ackerman shakes her head. “What do you think I used to knock him out?” 

Jean’s not sure if his disbelief in her statement comes from the words themselves or the fact that he’s running on about thirty minutes of actual slumber. 

“Okay then…” he says. He takes in a slow breath, his brain attempting to do that thing where it thinks. “This isn’t a prank, is it?” 

“Don’t believe me?” says Ackerman. She’s seeming oddly steadfast for someone awake at three in the morning. 

She motions across the hall to apartment 210, then she begins to walk over with the expectation that he’ll follow. 

For a reason that Jean is too sleep-deprived to comprehend, he huffs and obeys. He closes his door, undoes the chain lock, then opens it again. He fashions a makeshift door stop by placing one of his slippers between the door and the frame. 

Once that’s settled, he walks across the hall and into the apartment across from his.

When he enters, Jean notices how the place is a lot like his – a barebones studio apartment with grey walls, beige carpeting, and a modestly sized kitchenette. Her walls were just a bit more barren than his, devoid of things like sticky notes and ideas of failed projects that could never be. 

The only thing that made this apartment truly different from his was the fact that the window was broken and that there was some random dude passed out on the floor.

Needless to say, Jean was genuinely shocked. 

“Oh jesus fuck, you weren’t kidding…” 

The guy was dressed in all black and even had a duffle bag with him, all the markings of someone who thought it was a good idea to break into an apartment at three in the morning. 

On the floor was a smartphone. The device was near the robber’s head, had a crack running down the screen, and had a small smattering of red on the corner. 

Jean was no detective, but at least he able to contribute a somewhat relevant observation.

“At least we solved the mystery as to why you need to borrow my phone,” he remarks with his usual snark. 

“We did indeed,” Ackerman replies in a tone just as dry. She nods her head as she watches him head to her place’s door.

The trip to grab his phone is very quick. Jean heads back over to his place, grabs the thing off his nightstand, and gets back to Ackerman’s apartment in no time. He also rescues his favourite otter slipper from the door and grabs his keys to ensure that he wouldn’t lock himself out. He really didn’t want to go through that for a fourth time. 

Jean hands his neighbour his smartphone and she makes the effort to call 911 as swiftly as she can. 

As she waits for a response from the non-emergency line, Jean guesses that this is probably the best time to get formalities out of the way. 

“I’m Jean, by the way,” he introduces, speaking as if there wasn’t some dude knocked out just five feet away from them. 

“Mikasa,” she replies, looking him in the eye as his phone is held to her ear. 

“So what do you do when you’re not doing… this?” Jean asks, just trying to fill in the spaces of silence. 

Awkwardly, he places his hands in the pockets of his joggers to keep them busy. He’s never exactly been in a situation like this before. It’s hard to tell what exactly the standard operating procedure is.

“Work,” Mikasa says very plainly. 

“And what’s work for you?” 

“I’m an research assistant. For my undergrad.”

“What do you research?” 

Silently, she points with her finger to a wall behind him. On the said wall are a few degrees – ranging from a high school degree to what is very clearly a bachelor’s of science in botany. 

Needless to say, Jean is a little surprised. However, it’s less due to her collection of qualifications and more due to the fact that someone with a bachelor’s degree (and most likely working on their master’s) is living in the world’s shittiest apartment building with no proper security system. It certainly says quite a lot about the current economy, that’s for sure. 

In a few seconds, the non-emergency line picks up and Mikasa explains the situation. In a very prompt and professional manner, information is exchanged before she’s informed that help is on the way. Once that’s established, she hangs up the phone and hands it back to Jean. 

“Thank you so much,” she tells him, keeping her voice honest and genuine as she speaks. “The police should be here soon.” 

“Hey, it’s no problem,” Jean assures casually, as if his tone will do anything in alleviating the tension. 

“You can go back to your apartment now,” Mikasa says. She walks to a stool near her kitchen counter and sits down, leaning her elbow against the thing. 

Confused, Jean raises an eyebrow. “What? You’re fine with being alone with this guy?” He looks down to the dude passed out. Although he’s not moving, it’s probably unlikely that he’ll stay that way. “What if he wakes up?” 

“Then I’ll do to him what I did before,” Mikasa explains very simply. With a casual grace, she runs the fingers on her left hand over the knuckles of her right. Her hand is a little bit blue and bruised, but that fact does not seem to faze her at all. “It’s no trouble for me.” 

Jean lets out a chuckle, less because the situation is amusing and more because things are beginning to get absurder and absurder by the minute. She may have told him before that this wasn’t a prank, but internally, he was still processing the possibility that it was. 

Laughing it off was a good way for him to wrap his head around things. Humour and sarcasm made an excellent defense mechanism. 

“Wow, a botanist  _ and _ a badass. You really know your way around the world.” 

“You can sit down if you want,” Mikasa offers. She motions over to the other stool beside hers. 

With a nod of his head, Jean walks over and joins her. 

“Let me text the super for you,” he offers as he sits down on the stool. On his phone, he types a quick message for the person living in the building’s basement suite. It was fortunate that he and the super had been on good terms ever since Jean helped the guy win that ballroom dancing competition. 

_hey dot, ackerman in 210 had a break-in._  
 _it’s all good but her window is broken._  
 _rug is a mess too. txt back when u get this._

“Thank you,” Mikasa says again. “You’re being way too kind to me tonight.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” Jean insists, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s not everyday that you go gotta deal with… this.” 

Mikasa nods her head, agreeing with every one of his words. 

As the two wait for the arrival of the authorities, there is an awkward, empty silence between the two of them.

As a result of that, Jean looks down to his slippers, wondering if maybe he should have left his otter slippers back at his apartment when he had the chance. It wasn’t often that people saw him in his usual state at home, let alone when he was wearing his  _ otter slippers.  _

He’s rather grateful that Mikasa managed to catch him on a night where he had enough energy to actually dress himself for bed. 

As time passes, thoughts of his life start to swirl in his head. 

Jean’s mind flashes back to the latest conversation in his month-long career discussion with Connie. It’s been quite a while, but Jean’s refusal of Connie’s offer remained persistent. But yet, arguments and negotiations had popped up every time he worked his shift at the bar. 

Shaking his thoughts out of his head, Jean tries to focus on Mikasa.

She proves herself to be a rather quiet person when there’s nothing else to do. Or maybe she’s just as weirded out by the situation as he is and doesn’t want to worsen things by talking. 

She busies herself by looking out the window, focusing on the shattered glass and the world of the outside. 

The sounds of Toronto’s nightlife leak into her apartment. It’s fortunate that the night is not particularly cold, meaning that she’ll probably not freeze to death until she gets a new window. But that doesn’t stop a slightly frigid breeze from leaking into the place. Mikasa will likely be stocking up on blankets and sweaters for the time being. 

“I didn’t ask you,” Mikasa suddenly says, snapping Jean out of his random thoughts about career, windows, and sweaters. “What do you do for work?”

“Me?” Jean blinks. “I’m an artist.” 

“What kind?” 

“The kind that’s underpaid?” he offers up as an answered. With a sigh, he shakes his head and shrugs. “I’m kinda jumping between freelance jobs and stuff. I gotta work a bar job to pay the bills though.”

“That sounds interesting,” Mikasa comments. 

“It is,” Jean agrees. Despite his acknowledgement of his financial situation, he can always admit that his kind of life will never fail to keep things amusing. “I mean, it gets stressful a little bit. But it’s fortunate that I like it there.”

In the minutes following, Jean proceeds to ramble on about his journeys of employment. 

He tells her about how he never went to bartending school and only started after getting a serving job at a shitty restaurant in his hometown. Had he not been eighteen at the time and had the usual bartender not quit out of rage, he would have never stepped behind the bar and probably wouldn’t have the job he had today. 

He then talks about the stresses that come with working a nightly bar shift, especially when the most frustrating customers stop by. Some of the things that happen inside a bar bathroom are best left unmentioned. The human race was not meant to know certain things. 

Then Jean proceeds to ramble about Connie’s constant pestering that he become co-owner of the bar they work at. It’s not a bad offer per se, but Jean’s aware that it’s more responsibility and more shifts for not a big increase of hourly pay. Plus, more time working the bar would mean less time working and perfecting his craft. 

He wanted to be an illustrator, he really did. That meant he had to spend any free time he had practicing his passion and doing odd jobs. 

For some reason, Mikasa listens as he speaks. 

Jean’s not sure why. There are probably a dozen other people with stories like his – artists trying to make a living off their passion while simultaneous wanting the pay the bills. He’s not that remarkable, especially in a city like Toronto. 

Maybe it’s helpful for her to hear him talk. There’s a good chance that his boring ramblings get her mind off the current mess in her apartment. 

And god knows it’s one big clusterfuck of a mess. 

It really is a miracle that both of them managed to remain level-headed in the situation.

In less than ten minutes, the police arrive and do their thing. Mikasa and Jean wait outside the door of her apartment, sitting in the hallways as officers do their job. 

Jean stays awake through it all, even when Mikasa is too busy explaining things to the police to talk to him. 

It’s actually rather interesting to realize that a real police procedure is nothing like the stuff he’s seen on Law and Order or Criminal Minds. It’s also quite amusing to see an office create a makeshift covering for Mikasa’s broken window by taping a plastic film over the gaping hole. 

At one point, a look at Jean’s phone tells him that it’s four in the morning. Then his own memory reminds him that he’s got a brunch meeting with a potential client in a few hours.

But yet, he keeps himself awake. A part of him just doesn’t want to head back to sleep just yet, even if it’ll cost something later on. 

The whole thing is done at about half past four. The cops arrest the burglar and get everything under control, although they cannot do much about Mikasa’s broken window or phone. 

When the cops leave, Jean knows that the next best thing for him to do is head back to his place. He heads out to the hallway with the intention of entering his apartment and flopping down on his bed. 

As he walks, he hears a familiar voice speak from behind him. 

“Thank you for helping me tonight,” Mikasa says honestly. “I really do appreciate it.”

“Hey, like I said, Mikasa, it’s no problem,” Jean assures casually. As he speaks to him, he’s grabbing his key from his pocket.

“I feel bad for keeping you awake this long,” Mikasa adds in. 

“Aw, it’s fine,” Jean shrugs off. “I’m an artist, it’s not like I even need to sleep anyway.” 

“Well, at least let me repay you some way,” Mikasa insists. She seems adamant on giving him compensation somehow, and she doesn’t seem to keen on retracting her offer any time soon. “I could buy you some dinner the next time I get take out.”

Jean starts to grin. There’s something rather admirable about her adamant way of establishing things. With a roll of his eyes, he runs his fingers through his messy hair before nodding his head.

“Takeout is nice,” he agrees, beaming at her with bright eyes. “How about I text you when I’m free and… oh wait.” 

Mikasa lets out a huff, which seems to be her way of letting out a laugh, and nods her head back at him. 

“How about I just talk to you next time I see you?” she offers up. 

“That works too,” Jean agrees. He lets out a chuckle before turning around to unlock his door. 

Just before he enters, he holds his door open with one hand and glances back just to get one more look at her. 

Mikasa is looking more at least now – less stressed, less tense, more mellow. She doesn’t look too shabby in an amiable demeanor.

“Goodnight, Jean.”

“Goodnight, Mikasa.” 

With every said, the two then close their doors and retreat back into their homes. 

Jean prods through his apartment, dropping both his phone and keys onto his bedside table, then proceeds to do what he had been wishing to do for the last hour. 

He flops on his bed like a sack of potatoes and falls the fuck asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> I titled the document 'oh jesus fuck, you weren't kidding' and I just decided to keep it that way. 
> 
> Also, Mikasa being a botanist is kind of random but I'm semi-attached to the idea, so yeah.


End file.
